Chapter 1

On my wedding day, the giant screen in the ballroom was supposed to show a romantic video of my fiancé and me.

Instead, it played a sordid deepfake video of me with another man.

My fiancé, the celebrated tech mogul Edward Ford, pointed at me in front of New York's high society.

"Amelia Stone, you are a disgrace."

My own father then stepped forward, not to defend me, but to condemn me. He publicly disowned me, announcing he had another, kinder daughter who would take my rightful place.

He gestured to the side, and my illegitimate half-sister, Dara Chase, stepped out, looking innocent and fragile.

Betrayed by the two men I loved most, I fled the ballroom in shame. As I ran into the street, a car hit me with horrific force.

As I died, I floated above my own broken body. I watched as Edward and Dara embraced, their mission accomplished. But then I saw him. Josiah Craft, a guest at the wedding, fell to his knees beside me, his face crumbling into raw, animalistic grief.

I opened my eyes again. I was back in my penthouse, just days before the wedding that was supposed to be my end.

Chapter 1

The phone buzzed on the nightstand, a sharp, insistent sound in the quiet room. I stared at it, my mind a fog. I had just made a decision, a monumental one, and the call felt like an intrusion from a world I no longer belonged to. I let it ring, the name on the screen a faint, painful memory.

Josiah Craft.

Finally, I picked it up. His voice, usually so calm and steady, was tight with worry.

"Amelia? Are you okay? I heard... I heard about the wedding."

His words were a jumble, but his concern was clear. It was a lifeline. In that moment, a wild, desperate idea took root in my scrambled brain.

"Josiah," I said, my own voice sounding strange and distant to my ears. He was always so careful, so respectful of my engagement to Edward. He never crossed a line, but his quiet devotion was a constant presence in the background of my life. A stark contrast to Edward's grand, public displays.

"Yes, I'm here. What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softening.

"Marry me, Josiah," I blurted out.

Silence. Complete and utter silence on the other end of the line. I could picture him, his strong frame frozen, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. He was a man of immense power, the heir to a Texas oil fortune, a man who never showed weakness. But my request had clearly shaken him.

"What did you say?" he finally asked, his voice a low whisper.

"I said, marry me," I repeated, the words feeling more real, more solid this time. "When this is all over, I'll marry you."

I heard a sharp clatter, the sound of a phone dropping, followed by a muffled curse. He was fumbling, his composure shattered.

"Amelia, are you serious? Don't joke about this." His voice came back, strained.

"I've never been more serious in my life," I said, a strange sense of calm settling over me. "I promise."

He didn't answer. I heard a deep, shaky breath. Then, I hung up.

The moment the call ended, a wave of nausea and pain washed over me. My head throbbed, and a phantom agony shot through my legs, the ghost of crushed bone and twisted metal. I collapsed onto the thick, plush carpet of the penthouse bedroom, gasping for air.

I was alive.

It wasn't a dream. I was back. Back in the lavish New York penthouse Edward Ford had bought for us. Back in the life that had been so brutally ripped away from me.

I remembered it all. The wedding day. The massive screen in the grand ballroom suddenly flashing to life, not with a romantic montage, but with a sordid, scandalous video. A video of me, or so they claimed, in a compromising position with another man. It was a fake, a clumsy deepfake, but in the shock of the moment, no one cared.

My fiancé, the celebrated tech mogul Edward Ford, stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. He pointed at me, his voice booming through the hall. "Amelia Stone, you are a disgrace."

Then my own father, Al Hayes, the man who had married into my mother's powerful Boston family, the Stone family, stepped forward. He didn't defend me. He condemned me.

"I am ashamed to call you my daughter," he announced, his voice heavy with false sorrow. "All this time, I've had another daughter, a kind and gentle girl who has suffered in silence. It is time she took her rightful place."

He gestured to the side of the stage, and Dara Chase, my illegitimate half-sister, stepped out. She looked so innocent, so fragile, her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Edward.

I was surrounded by whispers, by the judgmental stares of New York's high society. Betrayed by my fiancé, disowned by my father. I ran. I fled the ballroom, my wedding dress tearing as I stumbled into the street, my mind a blur of pain and humiliation.

Then came the screech of tires. The blinding headlights. The horrific, final impact.

I had died. I remembered floating above my own broken body, watching the chaos unfold. Watching as Edward and Dara embraced, their mission accomplished. But I also saw something else. I saw Josiah Craft, who had been a guest, push through the crowd. I saw him fall to his knees beside my body, his controlled facade crumbling into raw, animalistic grief. His howls of pain were the last thing I heard before everything went dark.

And now, I was back. Reborn just days before the wedding that was meant to be my end.

A sound from the master bedroom pulled me from my horrifying memories. A soft, feminine moan, followed by a low chuckle. My blood ran cold.

I knew who it was. I had always known, deep down, but I had refused to see it.

My feet moved on their own, carrying me silently across the living room to the slightly ajar bedroom door. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of dread and certainty.

The door was left open just enough, a deliberate act of taunting, I now realized. I peered through the crack.

The scene inside was exactly what my soul already knew. Edward, my brilliant, ruthless fiancé, was in bed. And with him, nestled against his chest, was Dara. My half-sister. The one he had always claimed was just a "pitiable family friend" he was helping out of a sense of duty.

"Edward, what if Amelia comes home?" Dara whispered, her voice a breathy mix of excitement and feigned concern.

I remembered asking Edward why he had insisted Dara move into the guest room of our penthouse. "She has nowhere else to go," he had said, his eyes full of a convincing sympathy. "Her mother is sick, and she needs support. Don't be so cold, Amelia."

I had relented, shamed by his words, blinded by my love for him. I had bought her designer clothes, taken her to society events, treated her like the sister I never had. How foolish I had been.

"Don't worry about her," Edward murmured, his voice thick with a passion he had never shown me. "She's too proud, too arrogant to ever suspect a thing. She thinks the world revolves around her."

He was running the investment firm founded by my mother's family, the Stone family. His new-money tech empire from Silicon Valley needed the legitimacy and influence of Boston's old money. And I was the key. Or so I had thought.

Now, I understood. The romance, the grand public proposal that had captivated the city, the endless praise for our "perfect match"-it was all a scheme. A long, elaborate con to ruin me and seize my inheritance for themselves.

Dara giggled, a sound that was no longer innocent but malicious. "But I'm her sister. Her illegitimate sister."

"My father's daughter," I whispered to myself, the truth a bitter poison on my tongue. My father, Al Hayes, had been cheating on my mother for years. Dara was the result. He had kept her a secret, doting on her from afar, consumed by guilt and a twisted desire to give her the life he felt she was owed. A life he was willing to steal from me.

"You're the woman I love," Edward said, kissing her deeply. "Once we're married and I control the Stone assets, we'll get rid of Amelia. Then you, my love, will have everything you've ever deserved."

The pain that lanced through my heart was sharper, more real than the phantom crash. It was the agony of a thousand betrayals rolled into one. Memories of Edward's relentless pursuit flooded my mind. He, the untamable tech genius, had chased me for a year. He filled my office with flowers, bought out billboards in Times Square to declare his love, and pursued me with a single-minded focus that had worn down my defenses. He had seemed so genuine, so devoted.

He had promised me a future, a family. I, who had been lonely since my mother's death, had believed him. I had seen him as a gift, a reward for all my quiet suffering. I had said yes to his proposal without a second's hesitation, dreaming of a life that was now revealed to be a nightmare.

My past life, my love, my trust-all of it was a lie. A cruel, elaborate joke played by the people I loved most.

But this time, I knew the punchline. And I would be the one to deliver it.